


Dancin' In The Dark

by AngelsOfMercy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dancer AU, Domestic Violence, Families of Choice, Getting to Know Each Other, Hip Hop Thor, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Racism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsOfMercy/pseuds/AngelsOfMercy
Summary: Steve Rogers is used to the grinding misery that continually afflicts his life in the form of his abusive asshole of a father. He didn't think things could get any better. That is, until he meets a certain charming dancer who teaches him that life doesn't have to be dictated by the crappy cards you've been dealt. You can make your own decisions.Beginning with the one where you put one foot in front of the other and dance.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Just to warn anyone who might be sensitive, there is a short scene containing domestic violence in the beginning of this chapter, and references of past domestic violence in the main body of the chapter itself. Let me know if anyone requires any warnings for future chapters, I'll probably add any warnings to the end of chapters in the future next time though.

"You're useless, I work all day and for what? For you and that snivelling wretch to badmouth me behind my back? I ask for one thing, and you're not even capable of that!"

"That isn't about what I did and you know it. But the rent needed paying, we were already two months-"

"Don't you think I know that? Do you think all that medicine I pay for comes for free? What do you think I use to pay for your medication, for the boy's for that matter? Your wage from the hospital hardly covers a damn thing. I'm the one bringing the money in here, working hard to support all the dead weight in this family."

"Well, maybe if you didn't drink half of it before payday is even over-"

"Are you blaming me for your mistakes again, Sarah? A wife should respect her husband, not lecture him and turn his own son against him."

"Only if he's worth respecting."

Steve could hear the sharp smack followed by the heavy thud reverberating in his head continuously, almost on a loop. The wet slosh of blood dripping onto floorboards already ingrained with the fluid had become a backing note to the sounds. Sounds he's heard since childhood, but something his gut would never just 'get used' to. His Pa must be angrier than usual tonight, or drunker perhaps. He usually knew better than to mark their faces.

"Get out, Steve, get out and be safe, and don't come back tonight. Please honey, do as I say."

Rubbing his forearm where it had been twisted, Steve tilted his cap slightly to one side. Walking through the rapidly darkening streets, his cap helped to cast the side of his face in shadow. He hoped it covered the already developing bruise from where his head had met door handle. He wasn't sure how much longer the 'two left feet' excuse would hold out for. Guilt was already colliding with anger in his gut, cascading into the pit of his stomach. He should have stayed. He couldn't shake the look of resolution that had become all too familiar on his mothers face as she pushed him out the door. Even then she didn't forget a thing, passing him his pills off the unit despite the heated violence ready to ignite inside the place he was meant to call home. With a sharp twist of her lips, and a quiet murmuring she hurriedly whispered to him like she was sharing a secret,

"Don't worry Steve, I know how to handle him. Just be safe, go to Peggy's." When she could see he was unwilling to move despite the dazed look on his face, she gently stroked his hair back from his head. Her fingers were tender as she felt the lump there. Passing him his cap she continued, 'Get out, Steve, get out and be safe, and don't come back tonight. Please, honey, do as I say." Before gently leading him outside the apartment door and shutting it behind him.

It was only when he heard the shouting recommence that he shook off his daze and went to wrench the handle. Determined not to leave his mother alone, it was then he noticed the lock on the door. And that she purposefully hadn't given him his key.  
\------

"Hey, hey, Steve? Are you there? I'm at SHIELD right now, but I'm completely free after. You can tell me what happened and we'll find a way to fix this, okay? I'll text you the address. Stay safe, Rogers. HYDRA's been bold around here lately."

He loved Peggy for her optimism, even after all these years. But fix things? This wasn't like his heart. He knew Peggy meant well, but you couldn't fix something like this with words.

Steve sighed, taking his cap off before running a rough hand through his hair, his cap slapping against his thigh. He was long past the point of hoping his father could change, that they could be a happy family. Now he just wanted him gone. He wanted his mother safe, and to not feel guilty every time the door was closed between them. 

Quickening his step, he tried to cast his mind back to when his mother last truly smiled, without a bruise or cut marring her features, without a limp she was trying to hide or the turtlenecks she religiously wore to cover any lingering bruises. He nearly stopped short when he realized he couldn't even pin down a date to the one hazy memory he had from childhood, before he got sick and his mother became 'clumsy'. He tried racking his mind for a way out for them, but every idea came back to a dead end, just like always. His mother couldn't even get a stable job thanks to him, and even if they could somehow leave his abusive asshole of a father, he'd just find them anyway, drag them home like the last time, or worse. He'd bet on worse, he always bet on worse.

After all, who was going to believe that good old Joe Rogers, loving, caring father to a sick son and wife, was nothing more than an abusive, violent drunk?

Lost in his thoughts, Steve nearly missed the sign for SHIELD. He sighed, looking quickly up at the flights of stairs before walking towards the lift and finding it out of service. Ready to take a while, he began his ascent towards the School House for Inclusive, Eclectically Learned Dancing. The name never failed to make his lips twist upward quickly in a smile, he knew exactly what Peggy would say right now if she were beside him and he mentioned the name, 'Well if you ask me, Rogers, Phil just really wanted it to spell SHIELD.'

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was stretching when he noticed. There was that feeling, the chill that creeps up on the back of your neck when you feel yourself on display. It was a feeling Bucky Barnes was very much used to, especially over the last six months of his life. 

The feeling of someone watching.

He didn't look, purposefully kept his eyes glued to that of his partner, worked through the routine again in his head one more time before dashing into it, letting his competitive side show through.

He dropped her on the second attempt.

"Jeez, Nat, hold off on those cheeseburgers before practice would you?" He griped, a smile on his face and only half grisly as he worked at the join on his shoulder, still not used to the feel of warm flesh against cold metal, or titanium, vibranium, whatever the hell fancy stuff Stark used to make it.

He needed to get a grip of himself. This was something he knew, something familiar. Him and Nat making digs at each other when they messed up a routine, but always there for the other when things went wrong. He knew this routine like the back of his hand, hell, he designed it. He didn't know what had gotten into him.

"Maybe if you were paying more attention to me and less to Mr. Chiseled Chin over there, you wouldn't drop me." She stage whispered, causing Bucky to whip his head quickly to where Mr. double C just so happened to be standing.

From this angle he couldn't see much of him, much less his chin, but from his short stature he'd be confident surmising that he was about maybe a couple years younger than him. 

Had Clint recruited a new member to their worn little dance studio already? 

"Yeah, yeah, Natasha. Now lets get back to work, you know the competition is only a couple months away, and like hell am I going to come second to that posturing creep again. So shall we?" He held out his hand, his good hand, the hand people weren't afraid of touching, but she vetoed it to lay her hand on his bad shoulder instead.

"This is your last year isn't it? Before you no longer qualify?" He nodded his ascent before she continued, "Suppose we better make it count then shouldn't we? God knows, the last thing we need is Thor giving us tips again." She finished before sniggering, causing a twin laugh to release itself from Bucky's mouth without permission.

And that was that, pulling his head back in the game, the boy, Barnes, went through the routine again. His attention no longer split.

But that didn't mean that he didn't notice when that feeling creeped up again, that feeling of eyes on the back of him, watching, and appreciating what was there, metal arm and all.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve always felt out of place at the studio, on edge. He'd only been inside all of three times, his father's abrasive words always following him in through the doorway, 'Only prima donna's and fag's dance, its a useless activity in society.' He'd been all of nine when he'd first heard the words, and they never left him. Neither had the crushed look on his mothers face when she gently ushered him from the room, not willing him to be a front row witness to the ensuing fight. In all the years, and all the battles later with his father, the cruelty and venom attached to those words couldn't help but be seared into his mind. 

He didn't think that way of course. If he had his way, he'd be up dancing like a shot, but what use was a skinny little runt like him on the dancefloor? Watching the couple move gracefully across the floor, he found himself flinching when the boy dropped her, his eyes instantly glancing on the metal where flesh should be, rather than to the annoyed redhead dusting herself off as she got up from the floor.

He knew better than to look from experience. He had always hated the looks he got, the pity hard to stomach. What was worse was the looks of disgust and shame that also got shot his way, back when his Pa thought he wasn't looking. Disgust at his weakness, shame at having such a frail, fragile kid as a son. But that was before his Pa couldn't care less. He was used to the open hostility now, it was the only reliable attribute his father had. Well, that, and his propensity for violence and drink. 

He wasn't always this way, wasn't always so sick and weak. He'd once had high hopes for himself, of joining the army just like his Pa, of serving his country, but that had been before. He wasn't good for anything now, nothing more than a useless eater.

"Not bad are they? Just between you and me, I think they're pretty fantastic, but they don't want praise right now. They want critique because they want to be the best. You've got to admire their work ethic if nothing else, hell, it takes me back to when I was young."

Steve knew who it was before he even turned to face the man. He saw him around the neighborhood sometimes, walking his dog, Lola, he thought he heard him call her. He caught him watching once too. Scared the crap out of him in fact. What if his Pa had seen him rather than Phil? Tearing his eyes away from the boy and his partner, he turned to look Phil in the eye, using those precious few seconds to school his features before his reply.

"I wouldn't know, Mr. Coulson, I'm hardly an expert at dancing. Got two left feet myself." He felt himself blush as Mr. Coulson looked him right in the eyes, Steve's own eyes shooting downward to look at his feet. He missed the clear disbelief written plain on Phil's face.

"Please, call me Phil." He quickly replied, before looking earnestly into Steve's face and continuing, "Well, we like to say nobody is helpless here. Teach all sorts of dance techniques, for people with all sorts of abilities. If you ever feel up to dancing sometime, I'm sure one of the guys would be happy to help you with that. Your Peggy's friend aren't you?"

"Steve, yeah. I'm sorry to just come in like this, I can wait outside if you'd rather-"

Lifting up his hands in surrender, Phil quickly replied,

"No, no, no, that won't be necessary. Any friend of Peggy's, of any of the guys actually, is more than welcome here. I won't lie, with HYDRA's presence we have to be careful, already had two break in's since we rented the place, but I'd much rather you wait in here than out there where any of those thugs could be lurking about." 

Before he could set about replying, Steve felt two hands grab him on the shoulders, making him automatically flinch forward, his body still on guard from earlier. Luckily he didn't trip, didn't lose his cap, but it was close. He turned around, ready to give the unlucky victim a piece of his mind before seeing Peggy's face, chastisement already plainly spread across it. 

"Shit, Steve, should've thought before grabbing you, sorry." Turning to Phil she continued, "Have you guys been introduced yet?"

"Yeah, Peggy, we have. It was very nice to meet your-?" The ending rising in pitch, the unsaid question clear to both the teenagers present.

Their reply was quick as they said in tandem.

"He's just a friend."

"She's like my sister."

Phil's friendly laugh could be heard clearly throughout the space of the dance studio before he replied. "What I wouldn't give to be young. Peggy, we've a few little things we need to go through about your form towards the end of the routine, but we can do that when you're here later on in the week. It was nice to meet you Steve. Feel free to stop by again sometime." He finished before walking towards the couple still diligently practicing their own routine.

It was less than five minutes later before Steve quietly followed Peggy out SHIELD's door, little aware of the appreciative glance he was receiving that trailed him out the exit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos, and a special thank you to cepharah for leaving a comment!
> 
> Now hopefully all you great people enjoy the next chapter, and if any of you can it would really mean a lot to me if you could leave me a comment telling me what you think :)

They were laughing as they exited through the paint-chipped doors of the complex, making sure to stand directly beneath the lit streetlamp. Peggy always knew how to make him laugh. Sometimes he thought that was one of the things he loved most about her, the fact that she understood him better than anyone else, that she always knew what he needed even before he knew it himself. It was an amazing superpower, and one he had found himself much in need of over the last couple of years.

It didn't take him long to spot the dark blue KA idling on the sidewalk. A moment later the headlights flashed to alert the couple of where to go. It didn't do well to daudle in the neighborhoods after dark these days, something that had become mightily apparent the last couple of months.

Sliding into the backseat, Steve quickly gave his greetings to Mrs. Carter, once again noting the almost eerie similarities between her and her daughter. Peggy truly did look more and more like her mother as the years passed.

"I'm sorry to impose on you without ringing first ma'am, I promise it won't happen again. Its just that mom-" Suddenly he stalled, his mind a blank. What excuse could he use this time? Anything work related was out, she'd know that was a lie as soon as she went to the hospital the next day. In the end it didn't matter. Mrs. Carter could always see through him anyway. Must be a mom thing.

"How many times do I have to ask you to call me Mandy, Steve?" She said with a wry twist of the lips. "Your mom already called to ask if you could stay over, something about the neighbors playing up again? Anyway, you know we love having you to join us, you don't need to apologize." She sighed dramatically before continuing, "In truth, ever since Mike left for college I think Harrison has misses having another male around the house to talk football with. If anything you'd be doing us girls a favor by staying the night."

Steve sighed internally. He hated to intrude on the Carter's like this, but a little part of him couldn't help but be happy to be spending the night at theirs either. Seeing what a normal, loving family was like helped prove to him that he wasn't crazy. That the feelings he had about his own home life weren't exaggerated. It wasn't normal to expect a belt to the back for burning something in the oven. It wasn't normal to walk around his home with anxiety coiled up tight in his gut, unaware of whether his presence was going to be approved of or vilified.

He tried to put all that out of his mind during the drive back, immersing himself in the friendly chatter in the front seat while he could.

\----------------------------------------

It was over the dinner table that he kept noticing it, the looks. He'd had to take the cap off eventually, he admitted that to himself, but he didn't expect his forehead to bruise up quite as noticeable or so soon. He hated the looks he got. Every now and again, when she thought he was preoccupied, he'd notice Mandy glancing over. Assessing, pitying. Christ, he hated those looks. He was getting them from Peggy too, hers more curious, confused. It was the look she got when she was determined to work something out, no matter how long it would take.

He'd have to think up a good excuse for her this time, she'd already gotten too close to the truth before. He couldn't stand it if he started getting the same looks from her as he got from her mother. Not from Peggy. He surreptitiously flattened his hair over his forehead again before re-picking up the decorative cutlery before him, mixing the meal around on his plate, hardly tasting a bite.

They were all finishing up around the table when Steve heard a polite cough to his left,

"Your hair is getting mighty long these days, Steve! You should come by the shop someday, I'll give you a trim, on the house." Mr. Carter finished, never taking his eyes from his casserole.

Looking up from his own plate, Steve eyed Mrs. Carter speculatively. He wondered whether one look had been enough to prompt Mr. Carter into speaking, or if a subtle kick under the table had also played a part? He decided that vagueness would be best in this situation. Hell, it had worked out for him before.

"Thank you for the offer Mr. Carter, but between catching up with school and looking for a part-time job I'm not sure if I'll have the time to swing by the shop anytime soon." He thought that short but honest answer would be enough.

He was wrong.

\----------------------------------------

It was later in the evening when Mr. Carter pulled him aside and asked him to accompany him into the garage, eager to get Steve's opinion on a World War II model plane he was building. Or, at least, that's what he'd told Steve before getting him into the garage.

"I'm always happy to offer my opinion on anything you put together, Mr. Carter. You have great attention to detail." He finished, turning the plane over in his hands carefully. He remembered the unfortunate event that had befallen one of Mr. Carter's models a few years ago thanks to the twist his Pa had given his wrist earlier that day.

"You know to call me Harrison, between us Mr. Carter always reminds me of my father," Harrison reported with a grin, "But earlier, around the dinner table, you mentioned needing a job, Steve, and it reminded me I happen to have one going at the barbers if you're willing. I need a new man to sweep up, keep appointments and the like. Luke had to leave to go look after family in Harlem, and it puts me in quite the bind. It'd be great if you could help me out." He finished, leaning against the wall with a kind smile on his face.

Steve hated charity. Over the years, many people had taken pity on him in the hospital for his ill health and sickly nature, and he could always remember the anger that burned in his gut even then. Not at the people of course, they were usually just trying to be kind, to make his life that little bit easier. No, anger at himself, anger at not being able to run around, scrape his knees and have adventures like all the other little boys his age.

Something must have shown on his face, because it wasn't long before Harrison Carter was following up his offer with more explanation,

"Look, Steve, this ain't charity. I'm honestly in need of the help, and to be perfectly frank with all that's going on in the neighborhood these days with that damn snake gang, I'd rather hire someone I know, someone I trust." The 'like you' was left unsaid, but hung between them for a moment before he continued, "I'd expect you to work for your money. This isn't charity and I'm not a benefactor. You can do your homework at the barbers during the lull, and we can keep it between just us men if you like. I know your mom's birthday is coming up in another month or two, and being back at school now, it won't be long before all the dames come calling round your home lookin' for a date. So what do you say?" He finished, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

Well, when he puts it like that, Steve thought, it'd really be foolish to say anything but yes.

"I say you're crazy if you think anyone calls girls 'dames' these days, Harrison," He replied with a cheeky grin before looking down again, "I also say that I'd have to be a fool to turn down a perfectly good job like that. And if there's one thing I'm not, it's a fool."

"Good answer, Rogers," Harrison replied as they made their way back to the living room. "I knew you'd realize it made sense."

\----------------------------------------

"So, you wanna tell me whose been beating on you this time, Steve? Or are you going with the 'I fell over' routine again?"

It was a couple hours later before she gathered the courage to ask him, but Steve could tell this had been coming for the last hour or so, at the least. He hated talking about stuff like this here, it made him feel sick, bringing this darkness into Peggy's home.

"Look, it's nothing, okay? Just leave it, we need to get back to Algebra if we've any chance of passing this test next Tuesday."

"Nothing? I hardly think this is nothing, Steve. Just tell me who it is, were meant to be best friends, Rogers. I tell you everything, can't you tell me?" Peggy finished, placing her hand over his forearm.

Breaking his gaze away from Peggy's penetrating stare, Steve debated with himself. Maybe it was time? 

Yeah, and you know if you tell she'll be right over there, up in his face swearing like a soldier, telling him how he doesn't deserve me or Ma. 

He thought through the logistics of it, his mind coming back to the one thing that had always stopped his lips from uttering the truth before, you know he'd make her suffer too.

Steve gently removed her hand from his arm, holding it in his own for a few seconds, noticing the chalk that was dusted against the sleeves of her mossy green hoodie before looking into her face and smiling, "You know me, Pegs. I can never leave well enough alone." Sighing dramatically, he picked his pen back up before continuing, "I caught this group of kids messing about with the old stray cat by ours, and, well, one of them threw something at me. Lucky for me my head is as solid as a rock, even if nothing else is."

"Some kids did that?" She questioned, her tone letting him know she wasn't convinced.

"Margaret Elizabeth Carter, would I lie to you?" He answered, hoping his tactic of pseudo-answering her question would work.

He didn't know what is was, but he noticed the withdrawal in her face as she looked down. He'd have wagered this wasn't the last he'd hear about this, but all she said in reply was,

"Okay. If that's what you say happened then that's what happened, Steve." 

Quickly picking up her textbook for Algebra she continued, "If you think I'm letting my grade average drop due to an Algebra test then you don't know me well enough. Lets skip to section B." 

\----------------------------------------

It was around an hour later when Mandy called up to the pair, telling them that they better be getting ready for bedtime because no way in hell was she going to give them a lift to school in the morning if they overslept. 

Saying their goodnight's, Steve moved to the room next door that he had stayed over in pretty regularly for over half his life now. Opening the wardrobe, he noted his spare clothes were exactly where they always were, neatly hung up on the left hand side, discreetly separated from Mike's bigger, brighter colored clothing. He remembered back to when he first began staying over at Peggy's, how he'd had to borrow Mike's clothing the odd times he'd forgotten his own, when he'd been invited to stay over last minute, or, more often than he liked to think about, when he'd been sent away by his Ma to avoid a night of bullying and violence like tonight. At first Mike's clothes had only been a little big baggy, understandably since Mike was older and a big boy for his age, but the sicker Steve got, the more ridiculous he would feel in the tent like clothing. That's when Mandy suggested he bring an extra pair to leave in the room for those times he was caught unawares.

He found himself thinking a lot about the past couple of years tonight, nostalgia causing an odd lump to form in his gut. He missed it, the times before he got sick. He had a lot of bad memories, memories of being hooked up to tubes, nurses prodding him awake in the night to check his vitals, his parents' gazes, his mother's worried, his father's disappointed. But even those times in hospital weren't completely miserable, he remembered the easier times, before hormones and too long glances, when Peggy would wake him up to tell him what he'd been missing at school, when they would play agents and spies, guessing what the visitors in the ward might do as a day job, who was the most likely to be a secret spy. 

Picking up his sketchbook, Steve quietly padded over to the bunkbeds Mike insisted they needed back when they were kids. Back when they would all play together and share the most intimate, darkest secrets a bunch of kids their age could have. The memories caused the sides of his lips to twitch up in happiness. Of course, things didn't always stay the way they were when they were kids. He hadn't had a proper conversation with Mike for a year or two now, not since he'd decided he was too 'adult' for the games they still played, too busy studying for exams, more interested in conversations with people his own age than in playing childish games with his sister and her sick friend. Steve supposed he was right, figuring he must have done at least some level of studying to get into such a good college.

It took a good hour of sketching before his mind escaped the path of his memories. When he was finished, he glanced questioningly at his work, his mind taking a moment to comprehend what he had outlined before him. If he wasn't mistaken, his sketch had taken the form of a lean, faceless male form with strong muscles mid jump, that much was clear to him. What wasn't clear was the subjects left arm, shaded in, almost hidden in shadow.

\----------------------------------------

"You know as well as I do James that it's an arm form! Some of us have the skills for it, some of us don't." Thor asserted, for what felt like the thousandth time to Bucky.

"If by skills you mean the relevant balance to twirl around on your head without an injury or visible bald patch repeatedly, then sure, you can claim Hip Hop as an art form. Just don't expect me to share your assertions anytime soon buddy." Bucky replied good humouredly, only half listening to the conversation.

He started opening his locker to give his hands something to do while Thor continued to express the benefits of his chosen field of dance, making sure to have a small grin plastered on his face as his friend chattered on, even if it didn't go all the way to his eyes. He grabbed the hair band he spied in there, quickly tying his dark hair up out of his face.

On the one hand, he knew it was ridiculous, he knew that all he was feeling was a psychosomatic reaction to wearing the flesh glove that had been perkily placed in his hands by the young nurse when he was discharged from hospital for the last time. He knew that, but by god did his arm itch. 

Shuffling some books in his locker to make it look like he was doing something, Bucky took a minute to examine the fleshy material covering the metal of his new hand, noting the pristineness of it. In truth, it was too perfect. Sure, Stark had made a sound cover for the arm. The glove was an almost inperceptible match to the skin tone of his other arm, that was, if you didn't really look. However, the closer attention you paid to it, the more differences you could account for. Chief among them for Bucky being the fact it lacked the light dusting of freckles his previous limb had had. The lack of scarring from all those times falling off his skateboard was also a notable change, something his mind still railed at. 

He understood why he had to wear it, sure he did. He'd been over it before with his mom what felt like hundreds of times. It would help him adjust and blend into the school environment easier after the accident, or at least, that's what he told himself. So far, he wasn't too convinced of that. Sure, people didn't seem to stare at him anymore like they had when he'd first started back, not now they knew they weren't going to see any noticeable difference at least. Still, it didn't stop them talking about what had happened. The accident.

He remembered the other day in art class, passing the supplies to the girl on the table behind him... the way she flinched when she accidentally brushed against the coolness of his new arm. People who didn't know about the arm were always surprised by the contrast of warm flesh against cold metal.

Before he could dwell anymore on the incident, Bucky and Thor's attention was caught up by a ruckus coming from further down the corridor. Craning their necks to make out what was going on, Bucky soon realized what the trouble was.

"Looks like Brock's causing trouble again for one of the younger students." Bucky informed Thor, turning towards his friend.

"Brock Rumlow?" Thor questioned.

Bucky just nodded in the affirmative. He didn't expect his friend to make a move towards the steadily increasing group surrounding the warring pair.

Grabbing his friends arm before he could move any further, he asked,

"Hey man, what's going on? We all hate Brock. He's a nasty piece of work, but usually you leave people to their own problems unless it gets physical." He finished, seeing the anger in his friends eyes.

He didn't get his answer. Instead, their attention was taken in by the words Brock was mouthing off that caused an angry, tense buzzing of words to pass between the other students in the corridor.

Before they could react, they heard another voice shouting out, louder than Brock's, but just as intent.

"You wanna hassle him then you're gonna have to take me on too. I'm here all day you racist bastard. But then, it would be too even a fight, wouldn't it, Rumlow? You prefer more uneven odds like three against one, don't you?" The voice finished.

Bucky and Thor were already trying to make their way through the impressive crowd to get to the heart of their focus when suddenly the masses began parting before them, already being pushed aside roughly by Rumlow. He sniggered at Bucky as he went but made no comment, the crossbones tattoo just peeking out from under the shirt covering his tricep.

Bucky had to admire the other guy in the fight, guys got guts, he thought to himself. Everyone knew that causing a fight with Brock, or Crossbones as he was being called these days was just asking for trouble. Sensing the drama wasn't going to reignite, the crowd soon dissipated from around the other members of the argument.

Bucky noticed the pair straight away, he recognized one of the guys, Sam, he thought his name was? But the other one was a mystery to him. A good looking mystery, his mind supplied unhelpfully, noting the honey colored hair and lightly colored eyes. His stature was the second thing he noticed. Did he know this guy from somewhere? His mind wondered, not readily recognizing him. He had some nerve though, he knew that much. Crossbones had to be nearly twice the size of this kid, he'd already heard from guys at the gym that he'd practically lived there over the summer, obsessed with doubling his size.

Walking over to him with Thor, he coughed lightly to get the pairs attention.

"Hey, just wanted to say nice job with what you did back there, kid. Not many people would stand up to Rumlow these days." He finished awkwardly. 

He was about to ask about the source of the fight before Thor spoke up. 

"You know you've now made yourself a moving target with his gang, right?" Thor concluded, wanting to check the kid knew what he was in for.

Watching the blond guy color visibly before him, Bucky was about to cut in before he spoke up.

"Guys like that don't scare me, I've met bigger bullies than him. Sam's my friend," He said, turning to the dark skinned teen beside him, "I wasn't going to let him get away with saying those things to him while the rest of the corridor stood back and let it happen." He finished, his eyes blazing.

"I get that." Bucky replied, feeling a little chasened. He wondered if this guy counted him in as one of the mindless flock? "But if you need any help with Rumlow, let me know. Names Bucky, by the way." He finished uninspiringly.

"I know." The blond replied, small smile cropping up on his mouth.

Before he could say anything else the bell rang for classes, the guys before him quickly moving from his sight before being lost in the crowd.

He turned to Thor as the student milled around, pushing their way past to get to class. There was only one question on his mind as he thought about the little smile that had played on the guys mouth before he departed.

"Who the hell was that guy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if any mistakes have made their way in there, I've been sick all week so not as on my game as I usually am and I don't have a beta, but I promised this would be a weekly updated story so weekly updated it will be!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I have ever published online (despite writing in many fandoms for a couple years now) as its one that just wouldn't leave my brain alone. Therefore, any errors in this are completely my own as I currently do not have a beta, so please forgive any mistakes if you find them. If you like the story (or not), I'd really appreciate any feedback you can give.
> 
> My aim is to publish at least one chapter a week, but as the story goes on they might take slightly longer (I've averaged at over 10,000 words a chapter before once hitting towards the middle of a story) I hope you guys are in for a long-ish ride. I have some knowledge of dance, but if I make any errors please let me know. There is a small phrase referencing a show I watched recently. Props to anyone who recognises it.
> 
> Title comes from a Bruce Springstein song. Hope you all enjoy.


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